Chaos and Deceit
by Socrates7727
Summary: Special Agent Harry Potter of the FBI had been chasing Apophis for years. He was just so… captivating. Apophis: the serpent Egyptian god of chaos and deceit. He was a thief—technically—but his name was whispered like a threat in most circles, and he was the one thing that Harry just could not let go. Maybe it was obsession... Or maybe he would finally catch Apophis... HPDM-ish


AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Written for round 8 of the International Wizarding School Championship!

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Story Title: Chaos and Deceit

School: Mahoutokoro

Theme: Spy/Detective Muggles

Main Prompt: [speech] "Don't you dare [add any action here]!"

Other Prompts: [negative pairing] Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley

Year: 4

Word Count: 3158

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Agent Harry Potter had been chasing Apophis for _years_. It felt like days, sometimes, because that kind of blind focus was second nature to him, and the rest of the world just… disappeared. He never did it intentionally, of course, but it happened more and more as time went on. Apophis was just so… captivating. There was something intoxicating about the way he existed, half in the shadows and half out, and even his signature was a source of intrigue.

_Apophis_: the serpent Egyptian god of chaos and deceit. By his very name, he opposed order and truth but, by his actions, he opposed so much more. He was a thief—technically—but his name was whispered like a threat in most circles, and he was a different kind of influential that the Bureau wasn't used to. An observative, keeper-of-secrets kind of influential. A toppler-of-governments, puppeteer-of-politics—the newspapers gave him so many titles, he probably had at least a hand or two in that business as well—either way, he was powerful.

Maybe it was an obsession, maybe it was just commitment to the case, but Harry lived and breathed Apophis. He worked other cases because he had to, but his mind always came back to the master thief who danced like a feather on a string, always just out of reach. Apophis was real in the sense that he was a single, human man. Not a group, not some Robin Hood-esque idea or deity, but a concrete human being who could be caught. _Theoretically._ They had a rough sketch, they had blurry security camera photos, and they had about a thousand different names and backgrounds, but they didn't have _him_.

Harry blamed his obsession on his new, sudden abundance of free time. Things had been rough since the separation, and he needed every possible distraction that he could get. Work was just… convenient. True, he could have thrown himself into his actual job, or into his friendships even, but Apophis glittered like gold in comparison to normal life. Apophis had the kind of allure that made hunting him feel more like a game—an incredibly frustrating game—and less like work. More and more, Harry was starting to think that that was for the best.

He didn't really like to talk about it, but Ginny had made sure that everyone—or at least everyone who mattered—knew exactly why she'd broken off the engagement. _Too obsessive with work_. She'd never said outright that she was jealous of Apophis, but Harry knew she was. It'd started as a joke, calling the man his 'lover on the side,' but Harry had fallen down the rabbit hole, and it had quickly become less of a joke. He knew that the amount of time he spent hunting Apophis was abnormal, but so was everything else in his life, and that was the job. Besides, it wasn't his fault that Ginny couldn't handle not having his constant attention.

But it was Friday, and Ron had insisted that they all go out for drinks to celebrate something that Harry couldn't remember the name of—a birthday, maybe? Or a promotion? Not that it mattered, though, because any excuse to drink was an excuse to make bad decisions.

Or, at least, that's what the guys had said. Many of the other partners in their department liked to drink until they blacked out and did stupid things that would have cost them their jobs if anyone ever found out. That wasn't really Harry's style, but they definitely made him a bit more of a risk-taker than usual. Ron was also a horrible influence when drunk.

"I'm not saying you should meet a serial killer, I'm just asking why you _have _the app if you don't ever intend to _use _it?" Harry did not have enough alcohol in his system yet for this kind of conversation, but Ron did not let things go after the third shot, so he grudgingly responded.

"Ronald, I _use_ the app. Just because I haven't hooked up with anyone from it doesn't mean I don't use it." But he didn't. Even now, surrounded by work friends and beer, Harry's mind was still distracted by Apophis. It was definitely unhealthy at this point, but he wasn't sure that he minded. Why would Apophis leave the Caravaggio? Though arguably not the most valuable piece in the collection, it was still worth quite a lot—certainly worth stealing. He could have grabbed it easily, just added it to his collection as an afterthought, like gum at the grocery store, but he'd left it.

"What are you on about?" Harry hadn't realized that he was beginning to mumble again, but Ron already knew what was on his mind. "I swear to God, Harry, if I hear the word Apophis come out of your mouth tonight, I will get a different partner." He wouldn't—Ron loved him, and they were more like brothers than partners—but Harry kept his mouth shut. Ron was an amazing FBI agent, but he'd lost interest in Apophis years ago.

"If you're going to just sit there and obsess, at least pretend to be on your phone or something." Grudgingly, Harry pulled out his phone and opened the only app he knew he could mindlessly scroll through without starting another argument. They were right. All he ever did whenever they dragged him out was think-or obsess, depending on your point of view. He couldn't help it.

Why had Apophis left the Caravaggio behind? It didn't make sense, no matter how he looked at it, and even the faces on the dating app began to meld together into something like the sketches. Blond hair, sharp features, and pale skin. That was all they'd ever managed to get from the security cameras but, even now, Harry saw that face in the pictures he was scrolling past.

Normally, Harry didn't even stop to glance at the bio beneath each picture, he just automatically swiped left. It wasn't even a conscious decision, usually, just an instinct. But, for some reason, he found himself stopping on one of the profiles. There wasn't even a picture—just a black screen—which should have set off about a thousand alarms in his head, but he caught himself skimming the quote below.

_All works, no matter what or by whom painted, are nothing… unless they are made and painted from life… - Michelangelo _

Harry knew that quote, vaguely, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it before. It didn't really matter in the long run, honestly. A very large part of him was screaming that this was a horrible, horrible idea—that he was an FBI agent, and that he, of all people, knew about stranger danger—but the alcohol was talking too. Whispering a soft, constant stream of encouragement in his ear that was drown out only by Ron's yelling.

"Twenty bucks says you won't swipe right!" It wouldn't match. There was no way that some creepy, picture-less profile would match with him, especially not right away. Besides, it was twenty bucks. So he swiped right; he heard Ron cheer, and then his eyes found those three little words that he'd been dreading.

_It's a match!_

No… Oh no, no, no, no… What had he done!? It wasn't supposed to match! He'd never swiped right before, and he'd definitely never matched with anyone before, so what was he supposed to do!?

"I dare you to meet him." Ron was really not being very helpful in this situation, but the alcohol sided with the redhead and, before he knew it, he was moving towards the door. It was no secret that he'd never done this before and didn't know what to say. He started with a basic: _Hey_. To which Michelangelo, for lack of a better name, responded with the address of a restaurant. A very, very expensive restaurant. Harry got a cab—though he still wasn't sure how he'd managed to do that on his own—and he spent the entire fifteen minute ride hopping from thought to thought. What if Michelangelo tried to kill him? Why had Apophis left the Caravaggio? What was he supposed to even _do_ on a date like this, was he supposed to have protection? Why had Apophis left the Caravaggio? The Caravaggio just didn't make sense… What if his date was hideous? Why the Caravaggio?

"That'll be fourteen dollars six-seven cents." Harry handed over the money, and probably more, but didn't wait for change. How was he supposed to know who he was meeting if he didn't know what they looked like? Would the restaurant even let him in when he was clearly tipsy?

"Good evening, Sir. Your party is waiting." His what was what now? Since when did Agent Harry Potter have a party waiting for him at fancy restaurants? He never even sprang for the fries at the bar, let alone a place like this. But surprise was a powerful emotion, and it managed to stun him into a mindless sort of obedience long enough to follow a host to a table.

There was a man already seated. The first thing that Harry noticed—aside from the presence of another human being—was the pair of silver eyes that settled on him like the sight of a sniper. God, the man was _beautiful_ and Harry had to stand there for a moment just to take it in. Those swirling, silver eyes made his porcelain skin look almost unreal, like it was too perfect to be anything but actual porcelain. His hair was so blond it was almost white, and his jawline alone could have cut glass. Blond hair, sharp features, pale skin… Wait a minute.

_Apophis!?_ Harry's stomach dropped straight through the floor, but his mouth failed him. The man smiled—oh, God, an expression that beautiful and that pure should have been _illegal_—but his brain was short-circuiting. He searched frantically, looking for the outline of a weapon. Apophis was wearing a suit—tailored in all the right places, and black to highlight his skin tone—but Harry just _knew_ that there was a gorgeous body underneath and…

This was Apophis. What was he _thinking_!? Apophis was not the kind of man you oogled in a restaurant; he was the kind that Harry was supposed to arrest! Get it together! But Harry could not get it together, because his eyes were locked on the beautiful face in front of him and his mouth was struggling to even open.

"God, you're beautiful." Apophis laughed. It was a light, airy sound that made Harry want to both flee and stay forever. He couldn't even flush with embarrassment, though, and his mind was still struggling to process the fact that this was _happening_. So, when Apophis motioned for him to sit, he obeyed.

"You're a criminal." Finally! Something that made sense for the situation, at least. Apophis just smiled, though. How did he manage to make something like a smile look so effortless? Was that a criminal trait? Or just good genes?

"Took you long enough, Agent Potter. I'm a patient man, but even I have my limits." Wait, what was that supposed to mean? Was this some kind of threat or shakedown to get him to back off the case? Before he could even try to demand an explanation, though, a waiter appeared.

"Wine?" Apophis smiled easily, not even looking at the list he'd been given.

"The '78 Chardonnay; we'll take the bottle." The waiter nodded, but Harry couldn't get over the fact that _Apophis_ of all people had just ordered them wine like this was some kind of date! What in the name of—

"Don't look so sulky, Agent Potter. I know you like white wine, Chardonnay in particular, and the '78 is a good year for a full-bodied taste. Branch out. Tonight's a night for trying new things." What? Just… what? Harry didn't think it was possible for him to look-or feel-more confused than he was in that moment, but Apophis just chuckled under his breath. How was he so calm?! Of course, Harry imagined that it was easy to be calm when you were the one who was sober, in control of the situation, and the master criminal.

"What do you want?" Apophis grinned, but didn't answer. Instead, he waved his hand at the passing waiter and accepted a bill while spouting off about reviews and clashing palates. The waiter handed it over just to shut him up. Harry watched in horror—but also kind of in amazement—as the waiter disappeared and Draco opened the little black book to reveal three credit cards. He pocketed them like it was nothing.

"Don't worry, they were solid marks and could stand to lose a bit. One is even a company card, so Mr. Pinot Noir over there won't even feel the consequences of his actions. As for the other two, well… Just look at their purses. Only rich people carry purses with nothing in them." Harry had so many questions. He wanted to ask how Apophis knew they were rich, or that there was nothing in the purses, and he wanted to understand exactly how he'd just pulled that off. But he was an FBI agent, first and foremost.

"I could arrest you, you know." Another heartstopping smile, and Harry had to take a breath just to focus on the conversation.

"You could…" Apophis grinned and poured their wine as it arrived. "Or you could come back to my hotel room with me." Wait, what? Had Harry really just heard those words in that order? Not that any other order really made much sense either, but...

"Relax, Harry—yes, I know your first name, don't look at me like that—I'm a lot of things but I'm not a cop-killer. Besides, I would be sad if you died. Be a dear and hold this for me for a second?" Apophis passed him something beneath the table, just as the waiter came, but Harry nearly threw himself across the room.

"_Is this a fu_—"

"Lower your voice. You know I can't understand you when you use that tone, sweetheart."

"Apophis," Harry tried again, barely keeping his voice in a whisper. "Is this a gun?" Another smile. Why was he _smiling_? Was he really that calm, or was something horrible about to happen? Wait, was he setting Harry up somehow?

"It's Draco, actually, but I appreciate the title. Pass me your salad and main course knives?" Harry did it. Why was he just obeying!? Why did he pass the wanted _criminal_ two more knives?! What was he doing!?

"Are we going to _kill_ someone?" Too late. Harry realized that he'd said 'we' and not 'you.' Agent Harry Potter was not going to kill anyone—FBI agents didn't _kill_ people—and he wasn't going to let Apophis (or Draco) kill anyone either.

"Only if things go very, very wrong. Which is like… a seventeen percent chance. That's practically nothing! Now, calm down and try not to look so terrified, okay? Don't want the waiters asking questions." Somehow, Draco said all of that with a smile. He made conversation and laughed in the right places, even though Harry was not at all participating, and the waiters didn't even glance in their direction.

"Hey, thanks, here you go." The knives were handed back to him, bent on the tips. Had Draco just used them to pick some kind of lock or something? Harry wasn't even aware that you could use a knife like that… But he did feel a bit better with two out of the four sharp instruments back in his possession.

"Sorry about that," Draco grinned, spreading his napkin over his lap and taking a sip of their wine. "You know what they say. New York, the city that never sleeps! Business is business, no matter the time zone. Now, tell me, how was your day?" Harry was positive that his brain was short-circuiting. He'd drank too much, and this was his mind's sorry attempt at torturing him. This wasn't real—it couldn't be—and he tried to take deep breaths or pinch himself because there was no way in _hell_ that Apophis was sitting across from him, sipping wine and asking about his day. But the man didn't disappear, no matter how hard Harry blinked.

"Come on, Harry, don't look so shocked! I sent you so many clues! Are you really going to tell me that someone as brilliant as you didn't figure it out?" Harry could only gawk at him. Apophis—Draco, whatever his name was—was beautiful. He suddenly had no problem picturing this man crushing entire governments in his hands, or torturing anyone who dared to say no to him. If the devil came dressed in everything you ever wanted, then Draco was his devil.

"What clues?" Draco tsked at him, but Harry's mind was reeling. Apophis had left the Caravaggio. Why had he left the Caravaggio? The quote in the dating profile… Michelangelo…

"The quote. It wasn't Michelangelo, it was Caravaggio." Draco beamed at him like he was a child who had just successfully added two numbers together.

"Yes, it was Caravaggio. Technically, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio; I just chose to use his first name. Keep going, you're getting warmer." Harry was getting warmer, but he was fairly sure that had nothing to do with the riddle and very much to do with the gorgeous man sitting across from him. The Caravaggio… First, the painting, then the quote; it all came back to Caravaggio, but why?

"What painting did I leave you, Harry? Honestly, I went to so much trouble and you didn't even get that far?" The Caravaggio… Which one had it been?

"Tooth Puller. You left Tooth Puller, which you stole from Pitti Palace." That smile was back, shining at him like a thousand diamonds set in place.

"Really? I could have sworn it said Truth Puller…" But Draco was kidding—Harry could tell from the smirk on his face and the little quirks at the corners of his eyes. Truth Puller… Was that what this was? Some kind of coming-clean, bear-your-soul little meet and greet?

"It all leads back to you." Draco smiled, sipping his wine.

"It's always led back to me, Agent Potter. Everything you do always leads back to me, because I've spent the last three years dancing just inches out of your grasp. Are you familiar with the phrase 'fifty-fifty?'"

"Don't you dare even _think_ about suggesting a bribe or giving me a cut of some take just to let you off the hook!" But Draco just sipped his wine and smiled.

"Relax, I would never. No, I was suggesting a more… mutually beneficial arrangement. 100-100," Draco paused, biting his lip as he glanced towards the door. "Tonight's a night for trying new things, no? For three years, you've been _this close_ to finally getting your hands on me…"

"What are you saying?" Another blinding grin, but Harry was too enthralled to be distracted.

"What do you say, Potter? Is tonight the night you finally catch Apophis?"

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Thanks so much for reading! Please review!


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